


A Series of Departures

by vecchiofastidioso



Series: The Long Way Around [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:54:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2736710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vecchiofastidioso/pseuds/vecchiofastidioso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tale of Éimhir Surana and Cullen doesn't end at their parting in the wake of the Ferelden Circle disaster. While it leaves them both scarred, shaken, some relationships are meant to continue, though they may take years to come to fruition. What came before was fragile. What comes next...only time will tell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Departure

**Author's Note:**

> This originally started as a one-shot that was posted on Tumblr. But friends pestered for a happy ending for Cullen and Éimhir, and a short drabble became...longer. This is the edited, longer version, brought to you with a three-part setup and a story that continues into Inquisition.

         Silvery-brown hair flashed before his eyes, swirling through the air as the owner of the captivating hair twirled under the moonlight. She laughed, the sound light and uplifting, yet the sound made his heart ache. So rarely did she laugh, the sound often muffled so not to disturb scholars in the libraries. As her skirts rose, he caught a flash of slim, tan ankles, and as always was surprised that she managed to have slightly dusky skin even though she had been indoors so much of her life. She was a beautiful young woman...and beyond his reach.

         He awoke with tears dampening his cheeks, as they often had in the past few years when he had that dream. With a shuddering sigh, Cullen sat up and buried his face in his hands before raking his fingers through his short curls. Why did she haunt him still? Was it because he had repudiated her, thinking her a desire demon? Because she was his one mistake, a moment of weakness? He hadn't had that dream for a few years now though...almost two whole years.  
         Now that he was awake, he might as well get dressed and make the rounds before the recruits were up for training. It was best to get as much done as possible before Hawke once again came by to buy wares from the herbalist and to ask to visit her sister. He admired Hawke's determination, but it wore on him at times to deny a friend something so simple as talking to a beloved family member. Today it would be even more wearisome, burdened as he was with resurfaced memories.  
         She was dead. First she had died to him when he rejected her despite his feelings and had learned at last that mages should be restricted for the populace's protection. Then he had received word that she had died, the Hero of Ferelden, slain while defeating the Archdemon.  
         And yet still she haunted him.  
         The Knight-Captain's face was even more tired-looking than usual when he stepped out into the Gallows' courtyard, though his garb was as impeccable as ever. His armour was clean, polished, and the small dents from the training the day before had already been worked out. There were no loose buckles or clasps, and his sword was as carefully tended to as his armour. The way the Knight-Captain cared for his armour and weaponry and carried himself was an example to all the recruits, and even the seasoned Templars. Though he had only been promoted to this position less than a decade ago, he had the respect of his subordinates and the trust of the Knight-Commander, who shared his views of mages. He had learned under Knight-Commander Meredith how to balance firmness with diplomacy, and could muster a smile even when he felt as strained as he did now with the last bout of blood mages.  
         "I don't remember you looking nearly as worn before, _lethallin_."  
         ...He couldn't have heard that. He must be hallucinating, a result of sleep deprivation and stress. It was impossible for him to have heard that concerned, light voice, at this early hour or at any hour.  
         "Do you even sleep?"  
         Swallowing, Cullen turned, halfway expecting to find nothing. But standing a few feet away, her hands on slim hips, was a diminutive Elf with delicate markings proclaiming her a Dalish, her lightly tanned face framed by silvery-brown hair. "Éimhir..."  
         "You didn't answer my question, Cullen," she retorted, her voice sterner than it used to be, but it still had the possibility of laughter to it. "Do you ever sleep anymore?"  
         If this was a hallucination or a dream, it was a strange one, but he didn't want it to end. He didn't realise that he would ever imagine her in the new Warden uniform for mages, or with her hair so short it grazed her jaw. All the same, he drank in the sight, even as he cursed his weakness in longing for her. No matter how much time passed, the Templar couldn't forget how that desire demon tormented him in this woman's form and tried to break him.  
         Cullen was brought out of his slack-jawed stupor by a concerned hand on his face, the fingers cool against his skin. She...was real? "I-I...I h-heard you were dead..." Not the most brilliant thing for him to say, and it seemed his stutter was back. Maker's breath, but he thought he had gotten over that!  
         "Rumours of my death were greatly exaggerated," the Elf retorted with some resignation. "I blame Ali--I mean, King Alistair. He seemed to think that people believing I was dead would give me some peace and quiet." Her narrow shoulders shrugged expressively, and her exasperated expression shifted to one of concern. "But what of you, Cullen? I heard Greagoir relieved you of duty for a time..."  
         "It's Knight-Captain Cullen," he answered somewhat sharply, his stunned relief at seeing her alive replaced with his wariness of mages. She may be a Warden, but she was as vulnerable to demonic seduction as any other mage. Things could never be the same between them, not after what happened at the Tower of Magi in Ferelden, no matter how tempting the Elf was to the Templar. "Indeed, he suggested I take the time to recover from my ordeal, but Knight-Commander Meredith believed my skills could be put to good use here in Kirkwall."  
         So it was true. She had already heard of Meredith's firmness in dealing with mages, bordering on a phobia of them. If Meredith had taken Cullen under her wing and approved of his stand on mages...was there anything left of the Templar who had once earned the affection of a young Elvhen mage? Was there even a hint of the feelings they had once reciprocated for each other? Éimhir had hoped that time would heal the wounds, that at the very least they could be friends again...but it was looking as if the most they could have was civility and respect between a Warden and a Templar. That stunned, hopeful, disbelieving look when he had first seen her again would probably be the only glimpse of the old Cullen she would ever get again. She was proud that he had matured even more, that he seemed confident again, but she should probably leave, before she indirectly stole that from him again.  
         "I'm glad that things are looking up for you, _lethallin_." With a somewhat resigned smile, Éimhir gave Cullen the Warden salute. "I should leave you to your duties and attend to mine. Please be so kind as to inform the Knight-Commander of my presence, Knight-Captain Cullen. I will return again later when she is not busy."  
         "Very well, Éimhir."  
         A somewhat chilled smile met this response, and the young woman's eyebrow lifted a little as she bitterly imitated his earlier correction. "It's Warden-Commander now, Knight-Captain Cullen."

         "I was a fool."  
         Glancing up from tending the fire in his room, the blond Elf raised an eyebrow at the angry mage that now paced near the door. "My dear Warden, you are never foolish."  
         "You calling me 'Warden' seems to indicate you disagree with your own words," she retorted dryly before sighing and settling down next to the other Elf. Slim hands clasped themselves around one knee as she leaned against her companion with a wistful expression. "As always, I was naïve. I had hoped that perhaps...perhaps he had recovered. It has been almost five years now, and yet..."  
         "Yet he is still a fool, _querida_ ," Zevran retorted. Over the past few years, he had first been attracted to Éimhir for her beauty and the... _possibilities_ that lay with having a mage as a lover for a time. Then her devotion to a Templar, one of those who had suppressed her and kept her in a tower for almost all her life, had baffled him and driven him to almost derisive amusement. Eventually, she earned his respect and affection. If that Templar was such a fool as to drive away such a woman, well...he had no qualms about fighting seriously to claim her heart. "Why do you hold on to the memories, _querida?_ If he will not accept the treasure offered to him, why not offer it to someone who can fully appreciate it?"  
         "You mean to you." Éimhir smiled when Zevran shrugged modestly, and shook her head with a pat on his shoulder. "I know you, Zev. You enjoy the thrill of the hunt, of a challenge. If I were to capitulate, both of us would grow miserable: you from a growing lack of interest, and I from your lack of interest."  
         "I think not, _mi amor_." The blond Elf grew serious, frowning a little as he brushed back the Warden's hair and caressed the delicate shell of her ear, making her shiver appreciatively at the sensation. "Perhaps I would before...but I have come to know you, _querida_. I think you would always fascinate me. Things would certainly never be boring."  
         She laughed shakily and shrugged, looking away somewhat shyly. "Things do seem to be exciting around us, wherever we go. But...I don't think we are meant to be more than friends, Zev. Not right now." Maybe never. It depended on if she could ever really forget Cullen.  
         The Templar had been one of a few who felt any sort of rapport or sympathy with the mages, regretting having to keep the mages locked in the Tower for their own protection and the safety of others. Growing up in the Circle after she was nine years old, Éimhir had never been tempted to join in the 'fun' other mages engaged in secretly. While Anders was teasing her about being such a thorny rose, not letting close even those with 'experience' as he would say, the slim Elf was eagerly drinking in any sort of book. From dry tomes on agriculture to military records to spell books to the rare romance novel or book of poetry, Éimhir read them all. Thus she went through the next four years of her life.  
         Then when she was thirteen, a new group of Templars joined the ranks. Experienced mage hunters, new recruits, transfers from other Circles, they all were taken on a tour of the Tower to learn its structure and get a general idea what the mages there were like. Her silvery-brown hair tied back with one of Anders' ties since once again, she had lost her own, Éimhir had spared the new Templars not more than a passing glance as she chose an armload of books to read at one of the tables while classes went on across the library. It was better to observe the Templars when their actions and words were not suppressed by the Knight-Commander standing right next to them, and besides, it looked as if Irving had coaxed Greagoir into having new books brought in. Eager to read something new, Éimhir had not noticed when someone loomed over her, blissfully unaware of the armoured figure behind her as she pored over the pages with quick eyes.  
         "Sh-shouldn't you be in c-class w-with the others?"  
         Startled, the young girl yelped, and sparks flew from her fingers to dance over the table, and she ruefully watched as they added to the various pockmarks and charring in the table's surface. "I've already mastered controlling fire," the girl answered the Templar's question as she finally looked up at him. He wasn't anywhere near as hard-faced as Greagoir, nor did he look as overweening as many new Templars looked when dealing with mages. In fact he looked...gentle. A gentle Templar? She hadn't met a nice one since she was nine, and a fatherly Templar rescued her from slavers. "Shouldn't you be with the other Templars?"  
         "I-It's apparently m-my d-duty today to watch the library," he explained, his hazel eyes fastened on the Elf girl's face earnestly. "M-Maybe you can show me a-around later, when I am off-duty?"  
         "Certainly, if I don't have class."  
         His shy smile was possibly the sweetest thing she had ever seen, and it gave her a glow of warmth to have made him smile. "My thanks. I-I am Templar Cullen."  
         It was easy to smile in response, and she brushed her hair back over her shoulder, a wave of silver against blue silk. "And I am Apprentice Éimhir Surana. Welcome to the Tower of Magi, Templar Cullen."  
         With a bittersweet smile, Éimhir shook her head at herself, now twenty-one years of age. "I was very impressionable when he and I first met, Zev. I...don't know if I can push him out of my thoughts and heart just yet."  
         Zevran nodded and lifted the Warden's hand from her knee, turning it over to kiss the pulse point in her slender wrist. "Then I will wait, _querida_. I am a persistent hunter, you know."  
         "That I do," she laughed softly. "You are a persistent man in general." The young woman shook her head and smiled wryly as she rose to her feet. "I am going to get some breakfast before engaging in a little practice. Care to join me?"  
         "Always, _querida!_ "

         Sweet Andraste, she tormented him still. Cullen groaned and sat up in his bed, hands raking through his hair as sleep eluded him. Éimhir--no, Warden-Commander Surana--had been in Kirkwall for almost a week, talking with Grand Cleric Elthina and Knight-Commander Meredith. Though the Warden hadn't spoken to him since that first day, he had seen her walking through the Gallows or on his occasional walks through the city, a blond Elf with a deeper tan than the Warden at her side. Cullen was almost certain that the other man glared at him every time they noticed each other, as if the Templar had committed a personal wrong to the man. Éimhir's lover?  
         "It doesn't matter anymore..." Cullen muttered to himself, shaking his head. The past was dead and gone. If he had given in to his urges, to the little gestures and questioning looks she gave him...but no. He was wiser now, and it was just as well that he hadn't capitulated. Even though he reminded himself of this, he couldn't help but remember her eyes.  
         Éimhir's eyes had always been the windows to her soul. The first time he saw her, they had been wide and startled, like a playful fawn when interrupted by something new. They had captured his attention with the silver flecks in icy blue irises, which could only be seen up close. Over the years she was in the Tower, he had seen laughter, exhaustion, excitement, humour, playfulness, happiness, contentment, confusion, trust, and bittersweet love. They had both known it wasn't possible for a Templar and a mage to have a relationship, to be married in the eyes of the Maker. If even their fondness for each other had reached Irving or Greagoir's ears, Éimhir could be sentenced to time in the mage prison, and Cullen could be demoted and transferred. Even so, he couldn't resist drinking in the sight of her all the time, the innocent touches he wished he could feel through his armour. It had torn him apart to be chosen as the one to kill her if she failed her Harrowing, but he had steeled himself for it, ready to do his duty. Duty had always come first for him, even then. That day, her eyes had been exhausted, but triumphant before she slumped into a dreamless sleep. She had won against the demon, and passed the test.  
         Those silvery-blue eyes, so like ice chips against her dusky skin, had changed over the past seven years. They were older now, haunted, and wiser. Yet...they had been hopeful and happy when Eimhir talked to him, until he had closed himself off. Now, looking back, his heart ached sharply at the pain he had ignored in those mesmerising eyes.  
         He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to stay far away from her. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to clap her in magic-nullifying shackles and ship her back to the Ferelden Circle. He wanted her to stay. He wanted her to go away and never come back, leaving him to his misery and his duty to the Order. He needed to stay firm, for himself, Kirkwall, and the mages in the Gallows. It was for everyone's safety. There was no room in his life for a mage, either one in the Circle, a Warden, or an apostate.  
         "Leave me in peace..." Cullen groaned, bowing over his knees in sorrow and anger. "Haven't you tormented me enough, my love?"

         He always had terrible timing. Either that, or she was exceptionally skilled in her own, for this was the second time this had happened.  
         Once again, Éimhir had slipped out in the night, like a shooting star through the inky darkness, just when he was going to see her. Again, he was denied the chance to say goodbye.  
         It was oddly hushed in the training yard and in the Gallows, the recruits tiptoeing around the Knight-Captain. After a week of his being distracted and more weary than usual, he was now harder than ever before. His shadowed eyes watched for mistakes, and he barked out orders and corrections sharply. There were mutters about Knight-Captain Cullen having woman problems, which were quickly quelled by a glare from the man in question. Some of the recruits and even some of the more experienced Templars were having betting pools on what ailed the Knight-Captain: a woman, and if so, who, or more pestering from Hawke (who was also an option for the "woman problems"). Never mind that it was against their vows to gamble, it was simply so intriguing to see their capable leader, Meredith's representative to the lower ranks, so flustered.  
         "Yes, Hawke?" Cullen snapped when the curvy redhead sauntered up, the apostate Warden Anders, the ex-slave Elf Fenris, and the Merchant Guild dwarf Varric following her as usual. He enjoyed talking to Hawke when she didn't bring up her occasional wish to see her sister, but he simply was not in the mood today. Having everyone a safe distance away let him brood and seethe in peace.  
         Bright blue eyes blinked up at him, nonplussed, and the apostate beside the redhead glared at the Templar for his sharpness. "I've been busy for a while, so I haven't been able to come talk to you. I thought it might be nice to catch up on what has been happening in the Gallows...but it appears not."  
         Sighing, the Knight-Captain pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "I apologise, my friend. But...it has been a trying week..."  
         "I can imagine. Having a former Crow in the city can hardly be restful," Hawke agreed. She drummed her fingers against her leg with an exasperated expression. Hawke had a very open face, and was prone to joking to cover things up instead of outright lying. It was nice to have someone to talk to who didn't lie to your face on a regular basis, but he preferred talking to a certain woman with captivating windows to her soul...  
         "Not to mention an old friend," Anders commented, and when Cullen met the mage's gaze, he saw that it was a deliberate jab. This...apostate...had been in the Circle with Cullen and Surana, and had even been a Warden under the Elf's command. He knew Éimhir...and no doubt had noticed her eyes. What had her eyes told this man?  
         "Yes. Regrettably, my duties and her schedule made it difficult to renew our acquaintance," Cullen retorted somewhat stiffly, shifting into a straighter stance.  
         "Pity," the redhead commented before Anders could say anything to provoke the Templar. "She regretted the schedule clash, and told us to wish you well when she found out I was coming here as the Wardens headed out. They're returning to Ferelden once they check on some Wardens who recently came here to investigate the Deep Roads in the area."  
         A twinge of guilt and pain lanced through the Templar's chest, and it was with some difficulty that he maintained his stiff expression as he bowed slightly to Hawke. "You have my thanks, Hawke, for the message. Was there anything you wanted, besides talking?"  
         She shrugged and brushed her curls back over her shoulder, more forcefully and less gracefully than Eimhir would have years ago. "No, not really, except to offer some friendly advice. You really should sleep, Cullen. As in, laying down, closing your eyes, and letting your mind and body shut down for more than thirty minutes."  
         "I thank you for your concern, but I have too many duties in this stressful time to get much sleep, I'm afraid," Cullen responded with a wry chuckle. "Duties that I should return to, as a matter of fact."  
         "As you will, Cullen."  
         It seemed that Éimhir would haunt him still and deny him closure, he mused as he watched the small band exit the Gallows. Silently, he prayed to the Maker for patience and endurance, so he could once again push to the side the torment that memories of his wrongful love brought to him.


	2. Second Departure

         A fire crackled in a large fireplace, the light flickering on white stone walls and illuminating a broad figure hunched over a paper-laden desk. He was tired...so tired...and he got even less sleep now than he did over a year ago.  
         "Has it really been a year...?" he mused aloud softly, setting down his quill so he could lean back and pop his neck. A year since the tensions came to a breaking point in Kirkwall, since Knight-Commander Meredith lost her sanity and her life along with First Enchanter Orsino, since Aubrey had bid him farewell with a white face that made her freckles stand out all the more. Aahhh...he had grown fond of the young woman...but it had been best for her to leave. His friend had been so obviously torn between following the law and defending against what she perceived as injustice. In hindsight, what had gone on in the Kirkwall Circle under Knight-Commander Meredith those last few years was overzealous and extreme, but that didn't change the fact that he had a duty to continue the Order's work.  
         They were still rebuilding, and Knight-Commander Cullen would have preferred to rebuild with his friend's help, but she had disappeared. There were the occasional notes, which changed hands many times on the way to him, so all he knew was that she was still alive. The mage responsible for destroying the Chantry was still on the loose, and there were rumours that Seekers were on the lookout for the Warden and Hawke while Templars hunted down that...Anders. In fact, Cullen could have sworn he saw a Seeker of Truth just the other day, striding through Hightown with a platoon.  
         "The world has turned to madness," the new head of the Kirkwall Circle muttered to himself.  
         "And you still seem to get no sleep, _lethallin_."  
         The Knight-Commander leapt to his feet, hand grasping his sword, before he sucked in a deep breath when he saw who the intruder was. "Maker's breath...what are you doing here?!"  
         Those beautiful, icy eyes were wary and concerned as the tiny woman began pulling off her thick leather gloves. "At the moment, dodging a Chantry Seeker. I've managed to do that for a while now, but I seem to have simply run into another one. You should be asleep. I hadn't expected to find this office open at this late hour."  
         "Ah, yes. I thought I saw one in Hightown." He didn't return to his seat, and he kept his hand on the sword's hilt in case something happened. Sweet blood of Andraste, Cullen didn't want to think Éimhir would do anything to him, but old lessons aren't unlearned, even when one becomes disillusioned and once again loses practically everything. Their shared history didn't help matters any... "I don't have the time for much sleep. Thank you for your concern, but I have more important things to deal with. And considering the state of things across Thedas, so do you. Not all Templars distinguish between Wardens and apostates these days."  
         "Thank you for the warning, Knight-Commander Cullen." He almost felt guilty at the way her eyes shuttered, the mage clearly understanding the implied dismissal, and she summoned up a cool, polite smile. "Do take care of yourself. You're too valuable here to be out of commission from exhaustion."  
         Before the Templar could summon up a retort, Éimhir had slipped out as silently as she had arrived, and quietly shut the door behind her. When the latch clicked, Cullen sank back into his seat, still tense. She had only been in there a few minutes, but it had been long enough to kick him into alertness despite the long day he'd endured.  
         Maker's breath. It seemed he was destined to live in a new hell, with no idea how long that would last.

         He looked...so...exhausted. Drawing in a deep breath and clearing her mind of thoughts of Cullen, Warden-Commander Éimhir Surana squared her shoulders and made her silent way down the hall and out through the decimated Gallows. The stone walls were still scarred from the final battle, and the Gallows was silent. That might be due to the late hour...but she suspected it would hold true in the daylight. After all, tensions were high all around Thedas after her idiot friend Anders' attack on the Chantry. The man was lucky she hadn't found him, because she would almost cheerfully strangle him. Thanks to his actions, the Circles were lost, most if not all of the Templars had rebelled and broken off from the Chantry, and the world was split into pro-mage and anti-mage factions. Yes, many mages were free, no longer in the Circles, but his actions had made life that much more dangerous for them.  
         It had been four years...four years since she last saw Cullen, but it felt like it had been an Age. Wringing her gloves in her hands as she made her way to the room she had leased in the Alienage, Surana mulled over the changes time had wrought in Cullen. His eyes looked so tired, yet he was still too duty-driven, too proud and stubborn to sleep when he could work. Just because there was time to work didn't mean that he should. Ah, but...that was part of what she had loved about him. But his smile, that sweet smile he used to give when she spotted him or walked towards him, was gone. He didn't smile at her, didn't relax around her anymore. She was now the enemy to him. No matter how much time had past, her efforts to talk to him were always evaded, four years ago, seven years ago.  
         "I won't give up just yet," Éimhir murmured to herself as she began disrobing in her room. "Not yet. I didn't give up when I was told it was impossible to save the Circle, I won't give up now."

         Despite her vow to herself that night, the Warden-Commander was learning it was easier by far to defeat a group of abominations and demons than it was to get Knight-Commander Cullen to stay put long enough for a conversation. She occasionally managed to get the pleasantries out of him before he found some excuse to leave. Overall, however, the results were not encouraging, even almost a week after her arrival. Leaning against a wall, Éimhir watched as Cullen put recruits through training exercises and shook her head. She knew the moment he noticed her, a blue and silver-garbed figure leaning against the scarred stone wall, because he immediately tensed up, and the recruits instinctively tensed as well when they saw his reaction. A few turned to see what he was looking at, and the Elf shrugged before tossing her hands up in a silent acknowledgement that she was disrupting their training. It was tempting to shift into a mouse and stay around to watch the training some more, but she had the feeling that Cullen would quickly find her again. It was with some reluctance that she made her way away from the Gallows to the road out of the city's walls. She had some practice to do herself, but what she'd be practicing was best done out of the city and away from the Templars, even if they had no authority over Warden mages.  
         In. Out. In. Out. Focusing on her breathing, Éimhir closed her eyes and opened her other senses to feel the world around her. It felt good to be by the sea, the smell of salt blending with that of the plants growing in clumps amidst the rocks and sand. Out away from the Templars--and Cullen in particular--she was able to relax and move freely, engaging in warm-up moves taught to her by Zevran and instilled by the spirit of an Arcane Warrior. Idly, she let her mind wander to thoughts of the other Elf as she stretched and began her practice.  
         As a mage, Éimhir had never needed to learn self-defence techniques, not while she lived sheltered in the Circle. Once outside the Tower and especially after Loghain's treachery, the situation changed and she needed to learn how to defend herself if her mana was low. Staves could only go so far, but she didn't have the strength at the time to learn how to fight like Alistair. Another fighting style soon became available in the form of Zevran and his assassin tricks, which she assimilated over the course of their acquaintance. The Warden-Commander might never be able to assassinate people skilfully enough to join the infamous Crows, but she would be able to defend herself with the various poisons she carried and the knife on her belt. The skills she learned from Zevran combined with training from an Arcane Warrior had served her well over the past few years.  
         Silently, she thanked Zevran yet again for his patience, and felt a twinge of regret over not accepting his invitation to go with him to Antiva. It had been tempting, and perhaps it was time to move on despite her lingering affections for a certain stubborn Templar...but there had to be one more push, one more attempt to see if things could be reconciled between them before she gave up and tried to move on, this war be damned. And with that thought, she froze a nearby bush before sighing softly and running her hands through her hair. An irritating, uneasy hum thrummed through her, setting her on edge and making her feel hunted. Then her wits sharpened as insidious whispers reached her hearing, and she recognised it.  
          _Darkspawn._  
         Knife back on her hip and staff re-secured on her back, Éimhir took off running, her petite, slim body bent low as she picked up speed. Dammit, she was hiding from all those damned Seekers after Alistair warned her that they wanted her to fix the tensions between magi and the Chantry, so she hadn't brought any other Wardens with her. Traveling in a group of Wardens would be a bit conspicuous. Hopefully there wouldn't be any innocents near the Darkspawn to make her job any harder...and hopefully there wouldn't be any ogres.  
         It looked like she wasn't in luck with either of her hopes, and an expletive hissed through her lips as a Hurlock's bolt whizzed past her. Well, the unfortunate soul who had stumbled upon the Darkspawn wasn't exactly what Éimhir would call an innocent, but they certainly weren't a Warden. The last person the Elf had ever expected to see out fighting the Darkspawn these days actually seemed to be holding his own, but she still didn't want him in her way. Not when she could see an ogre bearing down on him.  
         "Cullen get out of there!!"

         With a slash of his sword and a spurt of Tainted, dark Hurlock blood, the Templar dispatched the Darkspawn in front of him before turning, ready to retort sharply to the snappish order. He knew she was there, he had no trouble recognising her voice or the feel of her magic gathering. What he didn't know was that she would jump down almost right in front of him with a slash of her staff, unleashing an arc of ice around him that froze the Darkspawn around him before she started running again.  
         "I said get out of here, _seth'lin!_ " the Elf snapped before whirling to snap a Hurlock's neck with a blow of her staff.  
         Now, the Templar may not have much of an Elvhen vocabulary, but ' _seth'lin_ ' didn't sound particularly endearing, especially when it was snapped in such a manner. But Cullen was detained in yelling back at her by an arrow whizzing by his head, prompting him to duck and hurl a belt knife at the offending Darkspawn. By the time he managed to spot her again, his heart was in his throat despite all his attempts over the past few years to eradicate his lingering feelings for Éimhir. She had left a minor trail of frozen, burned, and trapped Hurlocks behind her, but that wasn't what almost gave Cullen a heart attack.  
         She was shifting into a bear to attack an ogre.  
         "Maker preserve us," the Templar groaned as he ran after them, his heart pounding at the angry roar of the ogre as the Elf-turned-bear battered the beast back with a growl and roar of her own. It would be impossible for her to use any spells, defensive or offensive, in an animal state, and even a magnificent bear would have problems in dealing with an ogre. The little _idiot!_  
         His determined path to go assist the fool of a Warden was hampered by the trapped Hurlocks and Genlocks eventually managing to cut their way through the vines that held them, thankfully not all at once. But Cullen wasn't inexperienced when it came to battle, and knew he had to deal with them or leave his flank open to help Éimhir. The surge of magic and lyrium in the air let him know without looking away from his own battle that the Warden-Commander had returned to her natural form and was giving it all she had. Static electricity charged the area as lightning raged and the ogre roared in pain. When Cullen dared to glance over, pulling his sword from a Genlock, Éimhir was surrounded by an arcane shield and power surged around her to be released as a crushing prison, driving the ogre to its knees. What happened next, he wasn't entirely sure, since he looked away to block an attack, but there was one final roar from the ogre before fire began raining down, leaving Cullen with no more enemies to fight. Well, all but one, and this one could inflict much more damage.  
         Éimhir.  
         Warily, the blond man wiped off his sword and returned it to his sheath, his hand falling away from the grip in a conscious gesture. He itched to keep ahold of it, to be on his guard around this woman. It had been easier to keep his memories of her fond when he had thought her dead, when he didn't have to face difficult truths in the face of her presence. Difficult truths like how he had skirted breaking the rules of the Order simply by indulging in affectionate gestures and longing glances at her, how he had fallen for a mage and one that had been his charge no less, and the terrible things the desire demon had done to him because it knew of his weakness and desire for this tiny woman walking towards him now. Perhaps the most difficult truth was that even though he was older, wiser, and more experienced now, he still felt that attraction and that familiar ache in his chest. He had avoided her and slipped out of her presence all this week to avoid these things, and in resistance to what he was sure she wanted: a conversation.  
         It was absurd, considering how they used to talk softly in the library or the corridors all the time, a soft smile often brightening up Éimhir's face. But those times were in the past, a happier time that could never be brought back. So much had happened to each of them in the past nine years since she had left the Circle. Now there was an increase in blood mages and escapees from Circles across Thedas, and for all that Eimhir was a Warden, she was still a mage. Would she help mages who had escaped from their Circles? Was she even now hiding that murderer who had destroyed the Chantry here in Kirkwall? These thoughts made his face tighten and harden as he loomed over Éimhir.  
         Seemingly unfazed, she glared up at him with frosty eyes. "Why, by Dirthamen, are you out here? Last I saw, you were training recruits," the Elf demanded.  
         "I received reports of magical activity in this area, potentially blood magic," Cullen retorted. "I am here on Templar business. Are you here to make my day more difficult? I am ashamed and disgusted if you are practicing blood magic, in my jurisdiction no less. The Éimhir I knew would never do that."  
         "For your information, the accusation 'twas I who practiced magic out here is correct, but the accusation of blood magic is entirely unfounded," she snapped back indignantly. "I was attempting to make your day less difficult by practicing away from the city walls, so you and your Templars would be more at ease. I may be a Warden, Cullen, and I know we can be intimidating, but I can assure you that rumours of our eating babies and bathing in the blood of our enemies are untrue."  
         His frown deepened at her last statement, and he took a deep breath before replying. "I had never heard those rumours, but thank you for clearing that up."  
         "You are _ever_ so welcome." Éimhir's chin lifted with shamelessness over her confrontational exclamations, and she propped her fists on her hips. "For your information, you were a good quarter of a mile or so away from me. I think you may have never known I was here if it were not for the Darkspawn. I suppose while my devotion to my duty is your fortune today, 'tis my misfortune."  
         Stiffening up at the mention of duty, Cullen inclined his head, too tense for a bow, much less a bow in plate armour. "And I suppose I must thank you for your devotion to your duty, though I believe my skills are adequate to deal with Darkspawn in the pursuit of my own duty. After all, these are not the Deeproads."  
         Éimhir shook her head and moved closer to inspect Cullen for injuries, despite his obvious discomfort with her perusal. "You are not a Warden. If you were injured by a Darkspawn or got their blood into an injury, you could become a ghoul within a few days or less, depending on your body's resistance. I think you would not enjoy being forced into the Wardens to save your life." Her icy eyes were piercing and haunted when she met his gaze. "And even if I were able to perform the Joining here, there would be no guarantee you would survive. It does not work for all. But besides that..." She thumped his chest with a gloved fist and a glare, making him stiffer, if possible. "You are an idiot to not run when you see an ogre! Hawke is the only one to walk away from an encounter from an ogre without having an army to take one down!"  
         "It seems to me that the count has been raised to you and I as well," the Templar dryly replied, feeling another twinge at the thought of his friend. May the Maker watch over her, despite the mistakes she had made. "I assume your prognosis is that I will live to fight another day."  
         "Well, unless you do something idiotic again, yes, you will live to fight another day." She sighed and pinched her nose. "I suggest that you either don't mention the Darkspawn when you return, or you do not mention that we fought side-by-side. I would not wish for you to be put into a difficult position."  
         "I thank you for your concern, but I suggest that matters regarding Templar reports be left to me." And like that, the slight softening was gone. The post-battle euphoria of surviving was fading, and he frowned when she shrugged and turned away from him. "Are you not returning?"  
         Éimhir looked over her shoulder with a wry smile as she crouched next to one of the corpses. "No. You have your duties and I have mine. I always follow through until the conclusion, and my duty here will not be resolved until I get to the root of the problem. Do you not face similar situations?"  
         He had the uneasy feeling that she was referring to more than just the Darkspawn incident here, and adjusted his stance, obviously ready and willing to leave. "Perhaps. Be sure to return before dark, else the gates will all be closed."  
         "I am less frail than I look, Knight-Commander Cullen." She smiled and brushed off her knees. "I may or may not find some of my people in our ancient grounds. Perhaps even my own clan, long though it has been since I was last with them. Some bonds can weather the most trying circumstances." Her silvery-brown hair swirled around her shoulders as she shook her head with a short laugh and she pulled out a strip of leather to tie her hair back. "But you do not wish to hear my philosophical ramblings. Let us return to our duties."  
         As he watched Éimhir crouch down to track the Darkspawn, Cullen tried to ignore the sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. This was the longest they had talked in a while, and it was...actually refreshing. But he was reminded that though he had been the one to walk away whenever she approached him, Éimhir's departures tended to be for a long time, and once it had almost been to her death. On the next breath, he chastised himself for this thinking, and began the trek back into the city, though the uneasy feeling stayed with him.

          _You are an idiot not to run when you see an ogre!_  
          _I would not wish for you to be put into a difficult position._  
          _You have your duties and I have mine. I always follow through until the conclusion, and my duty here will not be resolved until I get to the root of the problem._  
          _Some bonds can weather the most trying circumstances._  
         Twirling his quill between his fingers as he took a brief break from the perpetual mountain of paperwork, Cullen mulled over the conversation with Éimhir. He hadn't noticed at first how self-confident and spirited she had become, though her concern for him seemed to be the same as ever.  
          _Some bonds can weather the most trying circumstances._  
         "But some bonds can wither instead of weather," the Templar murmured with a scowl. He hadn't wanted to think about it, about...the two of them, what may or may not exist between them, their past, whatever the future held for them. He hadn't wanted to deal with anything but the tasks that lay before him. His duties took up all his energy, all his time, and needed his attention even now.  
          _I always follow through until the conclusion, and my duty here will not be resolved until I get to the root of the problem._  
         There was no deeper meaning to her words there. She was simply referring to her Warden duties. He had to admit, he had respect for how seriously she took her role as a Warden. What irritated him right now was the fact that she was in Kirkwall, on her own, and not in Amaranthine as the Warden-Commander should be when not on official Warden business. She was even avoiding a duty that she had a good chance of succeeding at: staving off world war. Éimhir obviously knew why the Seekers were looking for her, she knew of the situation across Thedas, and she knew that she had the skills and influence to divert the chaos that would ensue if war between the Chantry and the mages broke out through all the lands. Yet why did she hide?  
         More importantly, what was he going to do about the Seekers of Truth still in Kirkwall?

         She never grew tired of camping and sleeping under the stars. During the Blight, she would often get rather euphoric despite the situation, since it was the first time in almost ten years that she had been free out in nature. The ground may be harder than a mattress in the Tower, but it was the ground. She was under the stars, free to listen to the sounds of the night.  
         Almost ten years after the Blight, Éimhir smiled as she set up camp on Sundermount. Not only was she out among trees and greenery instead of being surrounded by stone, but she was in lands that had her kinsmen's mark on them: signs that land ships had rested there for some time, fire pits, the paths to where their ancestors lay in uthenera. There were no other Dalish with her right now, but she still felt almost at home.  
         "Mythal, watch over me in the dark of night, alone in the lands so oft walked by my ancestors," Éimhir murmured softly, beseeching the goddess of protection for her favour. Despite her years in the Circle, she clung to the traditions she remembered from her childhood, to the gods of her people. Her time with the Dalish living in the Brecilian Forest had renewed her knowledge of her gods and her heritage, and she was proud of who she was. Even though she had respected the Templars' beliefs while she was in the Circle, she had felt lost without the religion of her people.  
         What might Cullen be thinking right now? Éimhir smiled and hugged her legs as she sat by her fire, looking up at the stars. No doubt she had irritated him, but the Templar had irritated her by accusing her of using blood magic, and the Elf had genuinely been worried about him. Cullen always talked about duty, and these days the lecture extended to leaving Templar business to Templars. By that policy, he should leave Warden business to Wardens, and should have simply tried to get away to tell the closest Warden (Éimhir) about them.  
         "Such a foolish man," Éimhir murmured with a chuckle. "See if I'll listen the next time you stiffly tell me to keep my nose out of Templar business." No, she would listen, unless he was going to do something truly foolish.  
         Her delicate chin rested on her knees and a sigh escaped as she gazed into the fire. Whatever was she going to do with Cullen? The Elf wanted to clear the air between them, try to at least be friends again. It had been too long since she last smiled and laughed with him. However, she didn't have all the time in the world to coax him into actually... _talking_ with her, she had to move on eventually and check on various outposts while keeping away from the Seekers. Éimhir had become a Warden out of necessity and a situation forced upon her. She had never wanted to be a hero, and she had no desire to be the hero of Thedas and poster child of the Chantry. How ironic that would be: a Dalish, an Elvhen, proud believer of the pantheon, acting as the champion of the Chantry. A slight smile crossed her tattooed face at the thought and she laughed softly.  
         She would simply have to see Cullen as soon as possible, determine if he was finally willing to talk to her. Mythal, but she hoped he would be. This afternoon had been amazing in a way: they had exchanged more words than they had in the past week, even if it was an argument. It was a start, right? May Dirthamen be generous and incline Cullen's heart into divulging his thoughts, which were secret to her but so very important to her heart.

         When Éimhir returned to the city proper, refreshed from her stay in the mountains and with bandages on injuries sustained during the recent battles, it was to face a stern-visaged Knight-Commander with his arms crossed and glaring down at her before he grasped her arm to steer her along. "Don't put up a fuss," Cullen murmured when the Elf began to tug her arm away from his grip with a frown of her own. His hand moved to her back, a silent message to move faster. "We need to move."  
         "Any particular reason why?" she murmured tightly, but complied as they side-stepped a crowd of people.  
         "I just discovered that the Chantry Seeker, Cassandra Pentaghast, still hasn't left. It seems Varric Tethras didn't tell her everything, so she's questioning him further."  
         Silver-blue eyes flew up to watch Cullen's hardened face, his jaw clenched. Was he angry that he didn't have the chance to question the Dwarf about Hawke's whereabouts? Or was he afraid that this...Cassandra Pentaghast would find the redheaded human? Most importantly...why wasn't he handing in the Warden, who was one of the Chantry's hopes for ending the war? If this Seeker had her, then they could coerce or force her into fighting for their side or into trying to resolve the conflict in the Chantry's favour. "Does she know I'm here?"  
         Cullen sighed and pulled the Warden against him, shielding her from the view of Seekers patrolling the area. "So far, no. Do you want to change that?"  
         "No, not really."  
         "Then just come with me."  
         Shrugging, Éimhir dipped her head slightly in acknowledgement and didn't pull away when Cullen grabbed her hand to lead her along again. She didn't miss how tense he was, and suspected it wasn't all due to trying to keep her hidden. He still had issues with her, but he was putting them aside. Why? To continue where they left off? To lecture her for not returning before dark as he'd told her to? Or was she looking for meaning where there was none? "I am curious as to why you are doing this..."  
         Cullen shot the Elf a sharp look and let out a sigh as he steered her down an alleyway towards the docks. "Can we talk about this later? I think trying to smuggle you into my office is trying enough on my patience."  
         "Alright, alright..." Her shoulders lifted in an acquiescing shrug and she fell silent up until they got through the Gallows and the door to the Knight-Commander's office was closed behind them. As his hand dropped from her back, Éimhir turned and propped her hands on her hips and lifted an eyebrow at him in a wordless request for an explanation, to which the blond man sighed.  
         As his eyes met that clear, icy gaze, Cullen inexplicably felt years younger, and almost began stuttering again like he had when they had first met. Taking a deep breath, he walked behind his desk and leaned forward, hands on the desk as he gathered himself. "It isn't safe here, Éimhir," he said at last. "Nowhere is safe for mages right now, but it is especially unsafe here for you. You know the Chantry is looking for you, you said as much when you got here. As soon as possible, you should make your way out of Kirkwall."  
         "I haven't finished my duty yet," she retorted quietly. "And as you said, nowhere is safe, even for me." A wry smile crossed her face fleetingly. "Nowhere that shemlen walk. My people have places that outsiders do not know, and we can hide well. Not to mention, it isn't too hard for me to blend in with the alienage Elves."  
         "Perhaps you are mistaken about your duty," was the somewhat harried response. "Perhaps...perhaps your duty has long since been taken from you." Warily, the Templar lifted his eyes from the papers on his desk to look at Éimhir, gauging her reaction.  
         Other than a slight tightening of her eyes and lips indicating her discomfort with the meaning she heard in his words, the Warden was calm and determined. Well, if she was going to be locked up for her own protection by the Knight-Commander (and the irony of this was not lost on her), she might as well make the most of her time. "I think not, messere. I am not infallible, but it does not feel accomplished or as if it were out of my hands."  
         "Sometimes we have no control over our duties, and may not know when they have been relegated to other people."  
         "And you think that mine has?"  
         Cullen's jaw tightened and he began pacing behind his desk, and Éimhir had to wonder who the barrier was for, herself or him. Maybe it was for both of them. "I am simply saying that you shouldn't invest yourself in this mission. I was once so invested in a task...immersed in it...I thought it would always be mine. I never finished it, never brought it to a conclusion, be it a good or bad one."  
         "Maybe you can now, since my duty is intertwined with yours." Éimhir planted her hands on the desk to lean over and look up at the armoured Templar carefully. "Cullen...it's time that we face the past. It is the only way that we can go forward, in any direction. Neither of us is actually getting anywhere since we have this unfinished business." She straightened up and shrugged with an expressive wave of her hands and sighed as he tensed visibly. "To others, you and I have done very well for ourselves: a former Templar knight and a former mageling, now Knight-Commander and Warden-Commander. But you and I know the truth."  
         "I don't think--"  
         "Dirthamen, Cullen!" she half-snapped. "I am not asking you to bare your soul to me! I..." Slim, long-fingered hands spread out helplessly as the Elf sighed. "I know I do not have the right to ask that of you. I simply ask that we work our way through the past, and try to be friends again, though that is something that cannot be forced."  
         Cullen sighed harshly and resumed his pacing with his hands clasped behind his back as he retorted, "You ask to be friends...when the world is in such a state...? You know as well as I what is happening across Thedas, what started here."  
         "I do, and I could quite cheerfully strangle my old friend for his foolishness," Éimhir snapped. "Though I have no real love for the Circle, nor do I hate it or the Chantry. As a child, I missed the forests, traveling with my people, the freedom under the open sky. I was captured by slavers, then rescued by Templars only to be told I was a monster who needed to be locked away and taught control, and had my religion and traditions almost completely eradicated from my life. And yet..." She shrugged and leaned against the desk with a tilt of her head as she met Cullen's guarded gaze. "I was taught. I was taught control, other languages, reading, writing, spell work...and I was also taught by other captured Dalish. I was clothed and fed. The Circle did not become a haven, but it was a constant after a life of wandering. I made friends, and I met you. You were one of the few Templars who was kind not only to a mageling, but to an Elf, a Dalish. I know what your people think of us, but you gave me the benefit of the doubt. I learned from you, Cullen." Sighing, the Elf began pacing as Cullen stopped, and she tossed her hands.  
         "I am a mage, Cullen. I can't change that, and I wouldn't. I have unique skills to bring to the Wardens, and can both destroy the Darkspawn and heal their victims. But I am not about to hate you or the Templars for what has been drilled into you, for your duty, nor am I about to join in this terrible war unless I have to. I am a Warden, a Warden-Commander. Even if I were so inclined as to join my foolish friend's rampage, my duty to my Wardens and the people would override that desire, for life is the most precious thing."  
         The entire time, Cullen listened with an arrested expression, guarding his thoughts and holding his tongue. He hadn't taken the time before to learn how she felt about everything, and his stillness and silence, the tilt of his head, were indicative of his mood as the mage vented: irritated. In that, they were the same. Good. Maybe he would stop looking so self-righteous and tired for a little and actually express himself.  
         "Warden-Commander, you and I are not the naïve young people we used to be. You should know by now that even if I admire your strength of character, there is still cause to worry that you may become an abomination or succumb to the temptations of demons. There is _always_ the chance of another incident like at the Circle of Ferelden. I have learned that mages are not people like everyone else, they are walking disasters waiting to happen."  
         "Forgive my language, but cut the bullshit, Cullen," she snapped back. "Mages are as likely to become abominations or summon demons as non-mages are to become mass murderers, rapists, or thieves."  
         "But the impact of a mage or group of mages losing control is more devastating, terrifying, and difficult to stop than common criminals," he bit out. "And the current situation seems to contradict your statement. There has been an increase in blood mages and maleficar these past four years."  
         "And you will notice that there are no blood mages suddenly joining the Grey Wardens."  
         "Wasn't that Anders a Warden?"  
         Éimhir glared witheringly and shook her head at the irritated Templar. "Anders is an exception in more ways than one. As far as I know, he has not practiced blood magic, and I know the spirit that entered him. And before you say anything..." She lifted a hand in expectation of his retort. "...I did not summon Justice. He ended up trapped outside the Fade. But something must have happened, since Anders and Justice have not acted the way I would expect them to."  
         Cullen shook his head, still scowling. "At any rate, you are not the only one to have learned, Warden-Commander. I learned from the Circle in Ferelden that too much freedom breeds pride: pride in the mages so they believe themselves capable of governing their own and pride in the Templars in thinking they can easily contain any situation. Here, I have learned that a lack of education in how the Circle helps and what demons can do leads to misunderstanding, anger, and rebellion."  
         "I believe a lack of understanding factors in, yes, but I heard about what was going on in this Circle. There is such a thing as too firm a hand, Cullen." She shook her head and slammed her hands down onto the desk with a glare. "What is the real problem here? You used to have a knack for dealing with mages, and now you want to lock us up and indoctrinate us?"  
         "No, I don't! I want to do my duty and protect both mages and non-mages!" He clenched his hand into a tight fist, metal scraping against metal. "But I am no longer naïve and ignorant about this. Mages are not like alcoholics, able to go through a slow process of gaining control, stability, and freedom."  
         Taking a deep breath, the Elf straightened up and tried to settle her temper. They would get nowhere if both of them just kept shouting. "Nor are we stupid, mindless beasts. We are people, Cullen. We learn, we laugh, we cry, we bleed, we die, we give birth, we hate, we love, we have hopes and dreams. While demons may be drawn to us, we ourselves are not demons."  
         "No, mages have just grown more and more likely to make deals with demons these days. Even seven years ago, we had mages planting demons inside Templar recruits! I still have one recruit waiting until we can be sure there is no demon inside of him!"  
         "Cullen, you know as well as I do that fanatics and disruptive aberrations grab attention, not peaceful and quiet people. It is always easiest to focus on and notice the brash and flamboyant ones, while the calmer majority hide away and don't make any waves."  
         His jaw tightened and he began pacing again. "I still can't put my Templars in any more jeopardy than necessary. I would rather stop there being another incident like the one at the Tower of Magi before it can even begin."  
         "Last I heard, there hadn't so much been abominations running amok in the Circle here as there was First Enchanter Orsino refusing to hand over innocent apprentices to appease Meredith's need to have mageling scapegoats, that started this war," she retorted before holding up her hands at his tight expression. "I'm sorry. But I first looked at this not as a mage, but as the Warden-Commander, and I expressed to Alistair my unease with the tightening fist she had on the Circle. She emasculated him in front of the Champion when he visited on my advice to warn Hawke of our misgivings."  
         "Knight-Commander Meredith was a good woman and a good leader," he shot back. "It was only when she got ahold of that blighted statue that things changed."  
         "I don't doubt it." Éimhir shrugged and adjusted her gloves a little. "Though since you say the change didn't happen until she got the statue..maybe you should think some things over. Perhaps her policies under the idol's influence swayed you, not the actions of mages, since the idol was causing the problem."

         The woman was a whirlwind. She came back into his life without warning, upheaved everything, and managed to muddle him all up. But was he really complaining? ...Maybe a little, yes. Even with the war stretching across Thedas, the tensions building, and the repairs still needed in Kirkwall, life had been less complicated before Éimhir returned.  
         Despite the Elf's admonitions for Cullen to sleep more, he was up early again to work on paperwork before his second-in-command would come in for the duty roster. He sighed and pinched his nose, dropping his quill back into the pot before rubbing his hands over his face. That woman--Elf--Warden--Éimhir...she was going to be the death of him. Admittedly, he felt easier around her, not so worried. At the same time though, he felt like his heart was in his throat at times. She would pop in unexpectedly, or he would find her practicing defending herself against a Mabari, without her staff. Even though he now knew that the war dog she practiced with was one she had brought with her, the Knight-Captain died a little inside when he saw the tiny woman facing down a Mabari charge.  
         Seeing her again--actually talking to her again, like old times, only without having to watch out for Senior Enchanters or other Templars--had brought back his protective feelings full-force. It gave him heart attacks to see her still hurtling up and down stairs, to watch her practice knifework with his recruits at times, or if she came back covered in dragon blood from trips into the caves along on the Sundermount. Seeing her covered in blood was new, but the exasperation at her recklessness was not. Éimhir may be able to smile sweetly, but she could be a complete imp. A fond smile tugged at his lips before Cullen frowned somewhat apprehensively. Yeah. That had been a fond smile. Smiles were rare on his face these days, fond ones doubly so. The Templar's mind started working again, pondering his apprehension and the cause of it as he automatically sorted reports and duty rosters.  
         They were both older and more experienced than when he first had that crush on the Elf. They had both changed, matured, gained wisdom over the years. While Éimhir had been busy saving the world and rebuilding the Wardens in Ferelden, Cullen had grappled with his trauma, with the horrors he had witnessed and experienced, and had been adjusting to life in Kirkwall under Knight-Commander Meredith. Two very different lives, two very different paths, now crossing again so many years later. Even so, his attraction to her had stayed, and he was still ashamed of that and its growth over the past few weeks. He was a Templar, and she was a Warden mage. They just weren't compatible, and he wasn't the type to simply indulge in dalliances, no matter how strong the sparks between them flew. His feelings...they were so...raw and sensitive, like a healing wound. He couldn't ignore his growing feelings for Éimhir, but he wanted to bury them and just keep to the friendship they had. After all, they had time, if they survived this Mage-Templar war.  
         Cullen smiled wryly to himself and shook his head. He was such a fool, again. But Andraste help him, he couldn't resist. It was with some effort that he cleared his mind to return to his work properly, and just in time too, since the knock on his door was more likely to be a subordinate than the Warden-Commander. After all, Éimhir rarely knocked.

         "I swear, I should drug your food or convince your Knight-Captain to knock you out."  
         "Good evening to you too, Éimhir." The Knight-Commander didn't even look up at the familiar, exasperated voice, inured now to her silent appearances at the door to his office. After all, one can get used to such things after over a month of such occurrences. "Are you here simply to fuss and insist that I sleep, or is there something I can do for you?"  
         "I'm actually going to be leaving soon."  
          _That_ certainly got his attention. His hand froze before he set down his quill and looked up to see the Elf standing in front of his desk with her hands clasped behind her back. "I...how soon is soon?"  
         Éimhir shrugged and brushed her hair back. "Tonight. I know, I know," she said as he rose to his feet. "It's late, why not wait until morning? I can travel by moonlight, and it's easier to escape detection at night. There is still a fair chance of some Seekers waiting in the area, or their subordinates. But I need to start for a port so I can return to Amaranthine. It has been many weeks since I left Sigrun and Nathaniel in charge, and I am still their Warden-Commander."  
         "You could just as easily leave from the docks here in the morning," Cullen argued. "And you would be more alert, less weary should you come across the Seekers."  
         "Are you honestly trying to convince me to stay longer?" she laughed. "I would have thought you'd want me out your hair, unable to pester you."  
         A few weeks ago, yes, he would have wanted her gone as soon as possible, to stop ruining his routine. But now, when he had gotten used to her presence... "I...guess I am trying to have you stay longer," the blond man admitted, and had the mild satisfaction of watching her eyes widen in surprise. "I-I...I worry about you."  
         Éimhir shook her head slightly and moved forward to grip Cullen's shoulder bracingly. "I will be fine. I have a fair bit of experience in sneaking around by this point. I won't say to not worry, but you shouldn't worry as much. In time, I will come back. After all, I'll have to check in on you and Tuvok, no?"  
         "I...suppose so...Wait, what?"  
         A faint smile tugged at the corners of the Elf's lips, and she whistled a softly whining Mabari into the office. "Consider it incentive for me to return? You might very well be grumpy and angry at me by the time I return, but at least I can be sure of Tuvok's affection. Well, once he forgives me for leaving him behind for a bit."  
         Still dazed, Cullen numbly lowered a hand for the hound to sniff when Tuvok slunk over. "I-I suppose so...Wait, Éimhir! I don't know how to care for a Mabari!" the Templar protested. "What if I do something wrong?"  
         "You'll do fine," she soothed. "I'll be back before you know it. May the Creators watch over you, and may the Dread Wolf never catch your scent, lethallin."  
         Thus once again the Hero of Ferelden, Commander of the Grey, vanished off the face of Thedas.


	3. Third Departure

         He hated it, this waiting. With Éimhir's track record of disappearing, appearing to be dead, and disappearing again for years at a time, it wasn't unreasonable for the Knight-Commander to worry. In addition to the Warden-Commander's tendency to disappear from his sight without any indication of when she might return, there was the little issue of the Mage-Templar war for Cullen to worry about. Every day, he pored over reports, listened to Templars visiting from other posts, dreading that an Elf matching Éimhir's description would turn up in a list of dead or captured mages. Cullen knew that she was capable of handling herself and that she was a Grey Warden, but with tensions this high, it wouldn't be unprecedented for a Templar to either not notice or not care about her status. The likelihood of that happening was higher outside of Ferelden, since not too many other countries knew what she had done. Not to mention, Cassandra Pentaghast had been to see the Knight-Commander recently...  
         Another weary sigh escaped Cullen's lips as he slowly turned a page in the report he was reading, an he glanced up at an anxious whine from near the door. "No, I haven't heard anything yet, boy," he sighed at the Mabari. "I'll let you know if I do."  
         Cullen had to admit that the dog was good company. It was obvious that Tuvok missed the lithe Elf as much as the Templar did, and it was equally obvious that he was just as intelligent as--if not more than-- the recruits. It had been amusing to see the reactions of Kirkwall and Starkhaven Templars to Tuvok, since they hadn't grown up around the clever beasts. Their reactions were priceless when they realised that the dog understood more than they originally thought. It would have been even more amusing if they could see Éimhir with the Mabari.  
         Éimhir...it had been three months since he last saw her. There was no word from her, and no word about her. It was both relieving and nerve-wracking to not hear anything about her, and didn't help his insomnia. The Knight-Captain wasn't the type to speak up about it, but Cullen could tell his subordinate was worried about him. There was nothing he could do to reassure the poor Knight-Captain. If Cullen couldn't sleep, he couldn't sleep. Sighing, the Templar set aside the now-read report and moved on to the next one.  
         Right. Work. It needed to be done, and was a good way to forget things for a time, like his worry over silvery-haired Elves. Well, it would be done, were it not for a certain Knight-Commander having a Mabari muzzle plopped in his lap and drooling all over his leg. "This has to get done, you know," Cullen remarked, trying to be stern and failing. It was impossible to hold out against those pleading brown eyes and that wistful whine. "Oh, don't look at me like that. Please?" The whining only grew in piteousness until he sighed and got up. "Alright, alright. Let's go to the Wounded Coast then. Will it make you happy if you can watch the ships come in?" He chuckled at Tuvok's sharp bark of happiness. "I thought so. Come on, then."

         "I must confess, I'm surprised."  
         Looking up from a stack of trade manifests, Éimhir tilted her head questioningly at her second-in-command. Her friend's tone conveyed more wry amusement than surprise, but she could tell he was certainly curious. "Then I must confess that I am surprised you are surprised. You weren't even surprised when I planned a surprise Name Day party for you."  
         "It's partly my job to not be surprised. Besides, I sensed your Taint that time." Shaking his head, Nathaniel perched on the edge of the Warden-Commander's desk to glower down at her thoughtfully as she sat back. "I'm surprised you are still here."  
         "I'm the Warden-Commander. Of course I'm here," the Elf retorted almost absent-mindedly as she paid attention to the reports again. "Where should I be? In the Tevinter Imperium?"  
         Nathaniel Howe was far too dignified to outright snort at his friend, and instead gave a slight "heh" in response. "Fair point. However, we still have Chantry Seekers looking for you. That, and I noticed you left Tuvok in the Free Marches." The corners of his lips quirked slightly in a dryly amused smile. "How long were you planning on leaving behind your constant companion?"  
         "I don't know, _lethallin_." Sighing, Éimhir shuffled papers on her desk. "He's with someone who needs him more than I do right now."  
         "That 'someone' being a Templar in Kirkwall?" He held his hands up defensively with a shake of his head at the Elf's sharp look. "I'm sorry, Commander. I couldn't help putting the facts together. That idiot mage Anders talked about how you and a Templar were...interested in each other...and I found out where the Templar was transferred."  
         Long-fingered hands ran through silvery-brown hair as their owner sighed and leaned back in her chair. "I should have known you'd put it together."  
         "That's part of why I'm your right-hand man, is it not?"  
         She tilted her head in acknowledgement of this fact. "It's just been a while since you've done that to me. But returning to your surprise that I'm still here..." Éimhir rose from her chair and began slowly pacing in front of her desk with silent footsteps. "You know I can't keep disappearing from my post. Eventually the First Warden will want a replacement for me. In fact, that might be what this is about." She flicked a sheet of parchment to her friend and right-hand man.  
         Leaning against the desk, Nathaniel quirked his eyebrow at the petite Warden-Commander after glancing over the letter. "A summons to Weisshaupt Fortress?"  
         "The First Warden wants me to give a report in person." She shrugged and sighed. "There are rumours that there is another Blight, in the Anderfels this time. Regardless of whether or not this is so, I have the feeling I won't be back for a while. I will be counting on you while I am gone, as I often do."  
         "Of course, Commander. May the Maker guide you."  
         It was an old little tease between them, this exchange of blessings, and Éimhir couldn't help smiling as she gathered up the summons. "May the Creators watch over you, lethallin."

          _Éimhir--_  
          _Maker knows when you'll see this. But I can no longer wait for you in Kirkwall. Cassandra Pentaghast has recruited me for an Inquisition under the Divine. The Templars are no longer what they once were, and this is a worthy cause._  
          _Perhaps I will find you before this letter does. It seems the Lady Seeker hasn't quite given up on finding either you or Hawke to lead this Inquisition. But never fear: I'm bringing your beloved Tuvok with me. He is doing well, but will be glad to see you again, I'm sure._  
          _Maker watch over you, Warden-Commander._  
          _\--Cullen_


End file.
